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M E G A N

The sun threatens to rise, sending pink light through the infirmary windows.

Alexandria's streets remain motionless as no one besides myself has woken up. Tara—the woman I still haven't yet spoken to—lies unconscious, still breathing, as I'd made sure to check her vitals immediately after my arrival.

I decided to begin my shift early in order to clean up what evidence I'd left after I forced Ron to come here last night. The boy was scared to receive treatment for his bruise in the place his father spent the most of his time. He didn't want Pete to know that I knew.

I, however, wanted the boy's father to know that I know what a piece of shit he is. But after a promise to the desperate, scared boy, it'd been established that I'm not allowed to do that.

Ron ended up letting me in on everything.

This'd been going on for a long while. Then, I was able to put two and two together. He'd also been doing the same to Jessie. And Rick had taken notice. After coming to the realization of what the two adults were so urgently discussing in the garage, I decided against telling Ron about them.

This family needs help, and although Rick and I don't usually see eye to eye, he could be the one to help them. Although, his motives with Jessie may not be entirely due to his responsibility as our new constable.

I screw the cap back on the bottle of acetaminophen, of which I'd given a few to Ron, without writing it down on the checklist. Luckily, the anti-inflammatory medication is something that the run groups happen to find quite a lot of. Pete most likely wouldn't notice. And if he does notice, I won't hesitate to deal with it.

I place the bottle back in the medicine cabinet and twist my key in the lock. My actions move gently as to not disturb Tara as she remains unconscious in the bed against the wall. Then, I swipe my hands across the sheets on one of the beds, smoothing out the wrinkles from when Ron previously sat on them.

A creak sounds out from the direction of the front door, sending a shiver down my spine. The one person I was disgusted with. Someone who had me—as well as all of Alexandria—fooled. I stand tall, leaning away from the bed and turning around, ready to face the monster I'd been working with for weeks.

"Hey." Enid says, looking confused at the tense look on my face. The new sound of her unfamiliar voice, easing my creeping anticipation.

"Hey." I mutter, a sigh of relief flowing out with the word.

"Could you do my checkup?" She asks. Her emotionless green eyes stare at me from across the room. "I just—I saw you in here. Figured I could get it over-with before you get anymore patients."

"Sure." I say. The girl lets her pack fall from around her shoulders as she places it on the floor next to the bed. She then takes a seat, sending wrinkles along the white sheets of the bed closest to the front door.

I walk to the cupboard and open it, grabbing the girl's make-shift medical file.

Since the beginning, the Alexandrians have tried to keep whatever sense of normalcy from the world before that they could. Thankfully, a part of that was a few pieces of paper containing a vague history of allergies, injuries, and dated check-ups of each of the citizens.

Flipping open her file, the scarce chart leaves a lot of blanks to be filled. The most recent date of a visit was only a few months after she'd arrived here. "You're overdue." I state.

"I never really found the time." She shrugs. "But I'm here now."

I send a shy smirk towards the girl's words, understanding why she doesn't care about playing doctor when the world is the way it is.

Taking my stethoscope from my desk and placing the ear-pieces in my ears, I walk over to the girl. "Breathe out." I say, gently placing the bell of it against her back, right over where Pete taught me the diaphragm is.

She continues to inhale and exhale as I move the stethoscope around. From my lack of experience, I probably wouldn't catch anything wrong with her unless something was really off, and by then, she'd be close to death. But—a formality is a formality.

Another formality—that I've unfortunately learned from Pete—is small talk. And although I'm not necessarily getting graded on my patient care, the tense silence in the room starts to make my ears burn. "So," I start, stepping away from the table. "Who do you stay with?"

"Olivia."

"She's really nice." I state, opening the drawer and grabbing the small percussion hammer. "Are you guys close?"

"No." She mutters.

I walk back over to the table and gently tap the point of the hammer on the front of her knee. Nothing happens. Tapping it a bit higher sends the bottom of her leg jolting with the reflex. I do the same to the other, quickly learning which spot I need to hit.

"You basically live with the Andersons." She starts. "Are you close with them?"

"I'd like to think so." I shrug, tossing the percussion hammer back into the drawer, shutting it. Then, I grab one of the otoscopes, grabbing a new tip, clicking it onto the end of the tool.

"They don't really like me." She remarks, no sorrow about the statement in her voice.

"No. They just don't understand the same things that we do." I say, walking back over to her side, lifting her hair from her ear. "They're nice people if you look past it. Hold still."

My hand raises the tip of the otoscope into her ear, not being able to see inside clearly as she talks, her jaw movement making it unsteady. Not that I'd necessarily know what I was looking for—had I'd gotten a clear view.

"How do you fit in with them?" She asks in disbelief, the most emotion I'd heard from the girl yet. "They're just so clueless."

I stand back from the girl on the bed in front of me, removing my tool from her ear.

"It took me a while to learn," I start, folding my arms in front of my chest. "But in this world, you have to learn to find family in the people around you. People from before, they may be gone, but other people—the ones you meet after—they're all you've got. And sometimes, that isn't such a bad thing."

"Caring about people gets you hurt." She retorts, a stone-cold expression on the unfamiliar girl's face.

"Sometimes, that's a risk you'll have to take." I start. "And when you care about someone—yeah—hurt is kind of part of the package. Look—Olivia might not be that person for you, maybe not even Ron. But you have to look around and see what's right there in front of you before it's too late."

"Is that how you feel about the Andersons?" She asks. "That you found your family in them?"

"It's kind of scary to admit, but I think so." I say, a nervous smile tugging on one side of my lips.

"All of the Andersons?" She hints, trying to uncover the information that I may or may not know. Unluckily, I do happen to know.

The smile is wiped from my face at her question. "Except one." The air now tense as we both—without words—admit to knowing the dark secrets of the picture-perfect family concealed behind the safety of these walls.

A few moments of silence pass between the two of us, as the gravity around us weighs down the conversation.

"See why I waited for another doctor to come along?" She asks, her voice just above the volume of a whisper.

"I just thought you didn't care enough to get checked out." I mutter, shrugging my shoulders and placing the otoscope on the tray.

"That too." She admits, huffing air through her lips that somewhat resemble the shape of a smile. "I just thought since you were here now, that I'd get a checkup from someone else before I lea—"

"Morning, ladies." His voice echoes out into the infirmary, followed by the door closing with a slam. The volume a bit loud, contrasting ours as Enid and I previously kept our tone muted in order to not disturb Tara.

Our heads snap towards the tall, intimidating man as his feet clunk against the floor and he walks into the room. A charming smile spreading across his pink lips and white teeth.

"Well Enid," I start, grabbing my stethoscope from the tray, swinging it over my head and letting it dangle around my shoulders. "You're good to go." My sneaky attempt at letting the girl leave, as I would want to avoid the man too, had I not been assigned to be his intern.

"Thanks." She says, her stiff demeanor and her voice echo out as if she were acting in a play.

Enid then stands up, keeping her nervous eyes on the man as he begins his shift. She picks up her bag and swings it over her shoulder.

Her eyes then flick toward me, then back to Pete, then back to me. "Hey, why don't you come with me? There's some—some medical girl stuff that I need to talk to you about, in private."

"Okay." I mutter, placing my stethoscope down on the tray and following after her as she heads toward the door. I don't take one glance towards Pete as I exit the infirmary.

Soon enough, our footsteps patter against the pavement of the sidewalk, after reaching a longer distance from the building.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about?" I ask. She then turns around, to face me, her hands firm on the straps of her pack.

"Nothing. I just couldn't let myself leave you in there alone with him." She haphazardly shrugs before turning back around and continuing to walk.

"Oh." I mutter, my feet coming to a stop.

"Are you coming or what?"

☆

After a brief escape from the gloomy walls of Alexandria, I'd actually learned quite a bit about Enid. More-so, why she liked leaving so much.

It was a statement. The outdoors being more peaceful than the inside—even with flesh-eating monsters—said a lot to me, and I'm glad I got to experience it. Though, I'd probably keep our little excursions outside the safety of the walls very few and far between.

My feet thud against the grass, shortly after Enid's. We'd both managed to shimmy our way outside and then, back inside the walls without anyone seeing us. Our landing spot being right behind the Anderson house—the house I'd planned on avoiding until further notice.

"Megan!" A high pitch voice calls my name, followed by the sound of quick footsteps pounding against the grass. Enid and I both turn around to see Sam.

The boy runs up to me and hugs me.

"What—What is it?" I ask, trying to pry the worried boy off of me so I can look him in the eyes. My struggles are of no avail.

"It's Rick and dad." The boy says. The situation giving me a sickening feeling of déjà vu. My eyes widen and my feet start to move, tearing myself from Sam's frail arms.

Jessie might be the closest thing I have to a mother. Ron and Sam might fill whatever void I'd had of siblings. But that son of a bitch is nowhere close to being my dad.

I hear Enid and Sam running behind me, as I weave my way through the crowd of people in the middle of the street. Even amidst the company of two welcoming parties, I hadn't seen quite so many people in one place.

My eyes don't quite catch up to the scene in front of me as the thud of a harsh blow landing on Pete's head nearly vibrates the surrounding concrete.

A bloodied Rick, drops of the red liquid running down his face, throws punch after angry punch at the larger man. Although Pete deserves it, the gruesome scene still causes my heartbeat to thud louder.

Sam and Enid catch up to me, our eyes glued to scene as the boy throws his arms around my waist. Without looking, my hands find Sam's head and gently push it behind my back, keeping him from seeing more of his father's violence.

With a punch to the gut, and a solid few inches of height against Rick, Pete is able to take him down. But—as a opposed to using his fists, like Rick was doing—he wraps his hands around Rick's neck, pushing down with all the weight he can muster.

Jessie's feet shuffle closer to the scene, tears streaming down her face as she haphazardly grabs the grown man—her husband—having no luck for a few moments.

Pete then reaches back—without looking—and punches his own wife in the face. Not that he'd think any differently about doing it if he'd known it was her.

Jessie cries out, holding her face in her palm as she remains on the ground, staring at the scene.

My anger takes over the fear I'd built against this man, as his own child clings to me and the people of Alexandria—including his own wife—scream for him to stop.

Rougher than I'd like to admit, my hands find their way down to Sam's arms and harshly rip them off from around my waist. And soon, my feet take off in the direction of the grown men, only one of which I'd grown to dislike.

"Pete!" I scream. "Stop!" My arms lock themselves around the grown man's waist, the chaos in the moment matching what could be the closest thing I'd experienced to riding an untamed bull.

With a grunt and a struggle, I'm able to briefly use my weight and push the man so that his hands fall from around Rick's neck. Rick gasps for air immediately. A feeling of slight relief washes over me, as I continue to struggle with Pete.

The next thing I know, all that I can hear is my own heartbeat. Muffled grunts from the two men continue to sound out as I'm sent flying backwards. I can feel the air leave my lungs once as his elbow collides with my abdomen and then again as my body slams against the ground.

A few faces crowd around me, the sun from the sky blurring them out as I try to catch my lost breath.
"Are you okay?" Someone shouts above the volume of the ringing in my ears. "Hey, we need some help over here!"

I'm alright.

Nothing comes out.

Guys, I'm okay.

A sharp inhale.

I'm fine.

My heavy eyes succumb to the gravity.

☆

After a few unconscious hours, I'd woken up to Denise.

Ron was able to get her to hesitantly agree treat me, being that she's the only other person here with medical experience besides Pete and myself. And she determined that I would need to rest my injuries for a long while. My concussion taking me out for a few days, and whatever internal damage done to my abdomen, renders me nearly immobile for even longer.

She then exited the room, after giving me a dose of the heavier painkillers from the medical cabinet. While waiting for the drowsiness to set in, Ron started to profusely apologize to me.

I felt bad that he felt bad for what his father had done. The blame—the guilt—of it all being the only way the boy tried to keep himself from realizing who the true threat actually is.

After the medication started to kick in, Ron decided to take me to the Anderson house for the night. I wasn't allowed to shower, eat or sleep by myself whilst I was so out of it. After bathing, I'd tried to put on some pants, but a searing pain shot through my stomach when I'd tried to button them. In turn, Ron let me have one of his large, over-sized t-shirts that covered down to my thighs.

Now—in nothing but my underwear, socks, and Ron's shirt—all four of us lie in Jessie's bed. My dangerously groggy state lead the woman to offer me to sleep in her empty king-sized bed alongside her for the night. Ron and Sam then quickly crawled in to join us.

The eeriness of Deanna's town-hall style meeting haunting us from a few houses over.

One of Jessie's arms are around Ron's shoulders and the other is around mine. My head leans on her shoulder as all I'm able to focus on is the small tattoo behind her ear. Sam sits on the edge of the bed—his legs crossed—in his pajamas.

"What's going to happen to dad?" Sam asks, pulling my attention away from Jessie's tattoo.

"I don't know bud," She starts, curling in her bottom lip. "Just know that no matter what happens tonight, it'll all be okay." The woman mutters, pressing a kiss to Ron's head. "I promise."

The boy stays silent, staring straight ahead, most of his face out of my view. He has not been his normal, cheery self ever since last last night, when he told me the truth about his family.

"What do you think will happen?" Sam asks, the child not expecting the brutal reality of what might go down tonight.

"They're deciding if they want to exile Rick." Jessie starts. "And if they do, his people will probably want to go with him." Her frail arm squeezes itself around my shoulder. "And then after a few days, they'd all leave."

"Even the cookie lady?" Sam asks, causing Jessie to chuckle, sniffling a bit as she does so.

"Yes Sam, even the cookie lady." She giggles.

"What about you Megan?" Sam asks, his eyes turning to me. "Are you going to go with them?"

"I—" I try to start, the grogginess of my medication making my voice throaty.

It wasn't something I'd gotten the chance to think about. I'd been in the infirmary, fully aware for only twenty minutes before the drugs kicked in, and it was only then that Ron had told me about the stakes of this meeting.

If Deanna were to kick Rick out, I don't know what I'd do. Without Carl here to tell me what he would do, I have no stronger allegiance to either side. Ever since Jessie asked me to move in with the Anderson family, I knew I'd have to choose. I just didn't think the time would come so soon.

"Let's not think about that right now, Sam." Jessie cuts in.

A singular gunshot echoes from outside, the loud sound causing the four of us to jump. Ron stands up, immediately heading toward the window.

"Don't look, Ron." Jessie tries, but the boy moves back a curtain, looking through the glass anyways.

"I can't see anything." He sighs.

"Why don't we all try to get some sleep? It's been a really long day." Jessie's nearly broken voice cracks as she asks us.

We all nod in agreement, Ron walks over to the bed to give his mother a quick hug goodnight before he heads to his room. Sam quickly takes his place, shimmying under the covers on the other side of his mother.

"Goodnight guys." Jessie says, reaching over her son and turning her lamp off.

With the sudden click, the whole room darkens. I allow my drowsy head to sink into the white pillow, rolling over on my side to face away from Jessie. My droopy eyes finally get a chance to shut for the first time since my medication had taken its full effect.

After what seems like a very long blink, my eyelids fling open and a wail leaves from my strained throat when a shooting pain tears through my abdomen. The sensation pulling me straight out of my sleep.

"Hmm?" Jessie mutters. "What's wrong?" She says as the lamp clicks on once again.

The woman groggily turns over on her side, her baggy eyes letting me know that we are well into the night, by at least a few hours. Some of her blonde hair tussled around, sticking in different directions as she panics, trying to figure out what's wrong with me.

Another painful groan involuntarily leaves my lips. The pulsating pain gushing through my stomach. I'd recently learned what hormonal cramps felt like, and this was beyond worse. The aching of the bruise was all the same. Except this time, a painful warmth spread. Something of a pain that was not external.

"What's wrong?" She repeats. My skin burns hot with panic as my fingers clutch the white sheets, a frail whine is all I can muster.

"What's going on?" A sleepy Ron walks in the bedroom door, wiping at his tired eyes.

"I—I don't know." Jessie says, before she bounces herself to sit upward on the mattress. The woman runs a hand through her hair, moving it from her eyes.

She pulls back the covers and looks down at my body before lifting up Ron's oversized shirt. The tired boy standing in the doorway turns his head, not wanting to see me in my underwear. Jessie's eyes widen and she sucks in a breath. "Oh my God. Ron?"

"What is it?"

"Go wake up Denise!"

☆

It was Sam who came to find me in the morning to tell me the news about what happened to his father at the meeting.

The child said he didn't know quite how to feel. He just knew that Ron was taking it the worst. When I asked how Jessie was, he said that she was shaken up, but more-so by what'd happened to me.

He then left, after I had to plead with him to keep Ron company. And a sleepless Denise helped me change out of Ron's t-shirt and into some real clothes.

The waist on the bottoms being loose for the sake of not putting pressure on my stomach, which we recently learned was dangerously distended. A symptom of slight internal bleeding. And if not heavily labored, it could heal all by itself. Our only choice as we don't have the supplies to fix it surgically.

I am now left alone, in the bed across the room from an unconscious Tara, to lie as still as possible, in fear that I might somehow make it worse.

Not being able to call for help is scary. Dying is scary. Knowing there is no remedy if I'd need surgery is scarier.

But knowing that I'd turn is the worst part of it.

Denise told me that I mostly likely couldn't make the bleeding worse. Even I knew that. I'd have to suffer a pretty intense blow to the same spot to finish myself off.

Whatever's happened to me—internally—has already sealed my fate. I probably won't die, or have any permanent damage. But, despite the reassurance from a real studying medical student, I lie on this bed, still as a board.

My paranoia keeps my eyes locked on the ceiling, in the same spot directly above me. Contemplating my thoughts on Pete's death was not helping with the headache from my concussion. And the slim chance of greater internal bleeding not quite making my nausea any better.

"Hey stranger,"

His voice calls out. My head whips toward the front door, not quite minding the suddenness of my motions, as I'd been doing so all morning.

"I heard you got knocked on your ass." A sly smirk spreads across Carl's nervous face, his teeth peeking out from behind his lips.

I suck in a sharp inhale as I begin to push myself to sit up in the bed, the bed creaking as I do so. "You should see the other guy." My strained voice jokes back at him.

My words being a bit too soon, however, I don't care.

"Hey—Hey," He starts. His feet rush over to my bedside. The familiar sheriff's hat bobs up and down as he does so. "Take it easy, will you?" He remarks, his hands reaching toward my back, helping me as I ache to sit up.

"Oh just shut up and help me." I retort, letting out a strained laugh.

The boy does as I wish and helps me, lifting my legs over the side of the bed. With his assistance, I'm finally able to sit up, not being able to hunch over because of the lingering pain in my abdomen. The mattress dips in a bit—bouncing and causing a bit more pain—as Carl takes a seat next to me.

My eyes meet his. The curious, anticipatory smile never leaving his face. I sit for a moment, in awe that he's finally in front of me, safe and alive. Warm and breathing. After absorbing that this is—in fact—real, I allow my weak arms bring him in for a hug, wrapping them around his torso.

"I missed you." I mutter into the fabric of his shirt.

"I missed you, too." He whispers into my hair, a prolonged exhale leaving his lips as he wraps his arms around my back. The breath is soon followed by a deep inhale, his nostrils buried in my hair. "You smell so good. I don't even want to know what I smell like." The boy remarks, pulling his head back from the embrace.

I take a slight inhale from his shirt. Carl smells of all things earth-y. His natural scent peaking through just a bit. Although he smells quite familiar, and the comforting scent eases every worry in my mind, I'd never let myself admit it.

"No—" I start. "No, you don't." I lie. He laughs.

He carefully removes his arms from around my back, and I remove mine from around him. Our eyes meeting as we pull back a bit. Heavy silence fills the few inches of space between us. I notice his crisp, blue eyes flicker down to my lips. The nervousness I felt that night on the dock, making its way back to my stomach—pulsating though my bleeding abdomen.

It's now—in this moment—that I remember exactly what'd happened that night.

It was a moment that I tried not to think about. Some embarrassment mixed with some regret, followed by a whole lot of confusion. I didn't quite know how to feel about it. I'd never allowed myself to think of Carl that way. We were always too busy surviving. Keep each other alive was more important than feeling things. The possibility never even crossed my mind until the heartbreak I felt when I first found out he was leaving. The burn of it being deeper than I ever thought it could be.

The boy lifts his hand, using the tip of his middle finger to move the hair from my face. His finger gently brushes across the skin of my cheek as he does so. Tingles shoot across the surface my face, and my lips part. The sensation coursing through my veins reignited the unexpected longing I'd felt for the boy.

Although somewhat shameful of what happened between us, I can't help but selfishly want to try it again. I know we probably shouldn't. After losing several people this week, I'd learned how fast things could change in this world, even behind the make-believe safety of these walls.

The pain I felt knowing Carl'd be gone for two weeks would be nothing compared to what I'd feel if something happened to him that he wouldn't get the chance to come back from.

But—staring deep into his blue eyes, dropping mine down to his lips—I don't care. In this moment, I know what I want, even if I'd hate myself for it later.

After an exchange of curious glances, we both slowly lean in, aiming to close the gap between our curious faces. That is until he goes to snake his hand around my waist, his palm dragging over the front of my—very bruised, swollen—stomach.

"Ah." A hiss escapes my lips.

As I hunch over in pain, my head jerks forward, colliding with his jaw. "Ah!"

The top of my cheek, once buzzing with the tingling of nervousness, now beginning to throb as I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Ow!" Carl starts, grabbing his face. "Oh god." He breathes out. "I'm s—I'm sorry. Oh god."

"No—no," I start, one hand clutching my cheek and the other arm reaching over my stomach. "It's okay."

He stands, shooting up from the mattress, causing it to quickly bounce up. The action sending more pain rippling through my bruised abdomen. I double over a bit more, trying to stabilize myself.

Being left dumbfounded after what was once supposed to be a soothing moment, reminds me of how quickly things in this world could turn to chaos. Although a bump on the head is the least of my problems, my lonely lips give me somewhat of a much-needed wake-up call.

"Shit! Sorry. Sorry." He quickly says, delicately grabbing my shoulders—as if he could cause me any more pain—and trying to stabilize me. "Are you okay?"

I sigh, catching my breath and trying to calm down to ease my rapid pulse from the series of embarrassingly painful events. "Yeah, Carl. I'm good."

"I'm sorry." The boy takes a few steps backwards, pulling his hands from my shoulders and holding them in front of his chest, his fists balling slightly at his own timid gesture.

"I'm okay." I mutter, a breathy laugh escaping along with the statement.

"Are you sure?" He asks. He nervously raises his eyebrows.

"Positive."

"Okay, good." His eyebrows raise as he nods. His feet inch closer toward the door. "I guess I'll take that as my cue to let you get some rest. You know—before I break your leg or something." He says, taking a few steps toward the front door.

It's only now that—that he's going outside to be reunited with the people of Alexandria—I remember he doesn't yet know our group is now apart of it.

"Carl." I start, grabbing his attention. "The group. They're here." I say. "Aaron found th—"

"I know. Ron told me." He starts. "But—when I found out what happened—I had to come see you first. I had to know that you were okay." His timid smile shines from just underneath the rim of his hat as he looks towards the floor. He then looks back up."I'll go find them—maybe unpack a little—and then I'll come get you and take you home. Sound like a plan?" He asks.

"Definitely." I say. A small smile showcasing itself to Carl.

"I'll be back." He says.

"You'll be back." I say. My words coming out from behind my wide smile.

Carl then gives me one last lingering look before he turns on his heel and walks out the front door. I watch the back of his head disappear through the window, as he makes his way down the few infirmary steps.

The sound of a throaty, airy chuckle pulls my attention toward the back corner of the room. My head turns to see Tara, the formerly unconscious woman.

She pulls back her sheets a bit, forcing herself to sit up, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her pale face and baggy eyes make every effort to hide the pain from her injuries.

"Well that was awkward."

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5330 words

A/N

Megan's better than me bc I'd get the ick but also she's on drugs so she maybe can't feel the embarrassment

My original Alexandria arc is coming to a close in these next few chapters xoxo

right now, these chapters are kind of like the black and white part of 6x01 so I have no idea if I want to classify them as season five or season six :o

also, upon research for this fic, I've realized that like maybe 6 months (in the show) passes between the prison and the time jump in season nine

isn't that HORRIBLE

☆vote if you want Megan's boo-boo to get better☆